You say in your letter that everyone from here tells you I am flourishing. The fact is, people see the possessions of others with bigger eyes. One has to struggle for every dreier, and meanwhile there is Beile-Sasha's wedding coming, and I am getting old and gray with it all! The expenses are endless; they will lend you nothing; there is still a silk over-robe wanting for the wedding outfit, and as soon as the wedding is over, my Eva Gütel must consult a doctor. If Shmüel, the Röfeh, advises her to go, you can imagine the condition she must be in. I consulted the Rebbe (long life to him), and he also advised her going to Warsaw. Her cough gets worse every day--you would think people were chopping wood in the room. And as to your trying to frighten me by saying that if I don't behave myself, you will write to our relative in Lublin, and she will go to her lawyer, and have me handed over to the Gentiles--you know, my dear sister, that I am not the least afraid. First, because a pious woman like you, my sister, knows very well what a Jewish court is and (lehavdîl) what a Gentile court is. You wouldn't do anything so stupid! No Jewish woman would do that! And, even if you wanted to, you have a husband, and he would never allow such a shameful proceeding. He would never dare to show himself to his Rebbe or at the Stübel again. Besides that, I advise you not to throw away money on lawyers, they are incredible people; you give and give, and the moment you stop giving, they don't know who you are. And I must remind you of the Tomàshef story which our father, on whom be peace, used to tell. You may have forgotten it, so I will tell it you over again. In Tomàshef there died a householder, and his daughter, a divorced woman, fell upon the assessor--he was to give her a share in the inheritance, according to _their_ custom. As she stood talking with the assessor, a coal sprang out of the hearth in her room at home, the room took fire, and a child of hers (not of you or any Jew be it said again) was burned. And I advise you, sister Hannah, to be sorry, and do penance for what you have written. Trouble, as they say, steals a man's wits--but it might, heaven forbid, be brought against you, and you ought to impose something on yourself, if only a day's fasting. I, for my part, forgive you with my whole heart, and if, please God, you come to my daughter's wedding, everything will be made up, and we shall all be happy together. Only forbear, for heaven's sake, to begin again about going to law.